Getchoo
by Romula
Summary: Vignette style of thing. Draco angsts (in general, but mostly about his relationship with Ginny).


Getchoo  
  
By Romula  
  
Rating: PG, for slightly harsh language. (Hah, that's a laugh.)  
  
Pairing: Draco/Ginny, Ginny/Draco, take your pick.  
  
Author's Notes: Vignette style of thing. Draco being angsty. Not really a songfic, but inspired by a song, so I included the pertinent lyrics at the beginning and end. The song is Weezer's "Getchoo." Hence the title. Tah. Self seems to be better at writing short sketches rather than attempting long stories. Probably due to short attention span... ^.^;  
  
________________________________________________  
  
This is beginning to hurt  
This is beginning to be serious  
It used to be a game  
Now it's a crying shame  
Cos you don't wanna play around no more  
  
________________________________________________  
  
Draco Malfoy was not given to flagrant displays of emotion. It was against his nature, and even if it hadn't been, years of living under Lucius Malfoy's critical and unforgiving eye had gifted him a detachment not normally found in humanity in general, and seventeen-year-old boys in particular.  
  
But damn it! Sometimes she just made it too difficult!  
  
He stormed through the dungeon passageways of Hogwarts, toward the Slytherin dormitories, stopped suddenly, and hissed a word through clenched teeth. The wall swung inwards, and he stepped into the common room. It was deserted, and he was glad today for the general anti-social attitudes of Slytherins. He stalked up a short flight of stairs to the boys' dorm rooms, and flung open the door to his own. Empty. A small part of his mind catalogued this information for later reference; he had been expecting to see at least Crabbe and Goyle in here, and had in fact been rather looking forward to throwing them out. Draco found that there was little better to alleviate frustration than demeaning one's fellow humans.  
  
Not having that option, he decided breaking something would suffice. And he did enjoy the sound that the lamp made as it smashed against the wall, glass shattering and metal clanging against unyielding stone. He reached for the clock on his dresser; it was a Muggle contraption he had found at a small novelty shop in Hogsmeade and had purchased in a fit of rebellion. His father would hate it. His father would sneer at him, tell him he was weak, unworthy of his name, of his heritage, for owning such a thing. Lucius would try to pick him apart.  
  
Arthur Weasley would have been more interested in taking the clock apart.  
  
He threw it hard against the wall, deriving a twisted sort of glee from the broken face, the springs and gears forlorn and useless on the spotless floor. Better the clock than him, when his father found out.  
  
The silly girl simply didn't understand! Lucius would disown him (which wouldn't have been so terribly bad, he supposed), or worse, lock him in a cellar for the rest of his life, as if he were simply a disobedient servant rather than his son. If his father was feeling particularly malicious, Draco was more likely to wind up in the hospital; it certainly wouldn't be the first time Lucius had sent him there. He loved Ginny, of course, but he wasn't entirely sure that he loved her enough to get himself killed for her just yet. Especially when she was being so completely ridiculous about the entire affair.  
  
Her family, he knew, barely tolerated him. He was persona non grata as far as her three youngest brothers were concerned and Molly gave him strained smiles and whispered to her husband in the kitchen ("Oh, Arthur, it's just a phase, surely she'll grow out of it?!"). Ginny's father, for his part, was willing to entertain the idea that Draco was completely unlike his father.  
  
Who was she to go making demands of him? So her family knew of their relationship, he hadn't asked her to tell them, he hadn't asked her to tell anyone! Lucius wasn't Arthur, and Narcissa was as far from Molly as he thought it possible to get. Ginny's only saving grace in his father's eyes would be her pure-blood heritage, and even that wouldn't count for much, given that Lucius considered Arthur's fondness for Muggles to be a taint upon the entire family, making them all practically Mudbloods. Who was she to ask him to do this for her, to tell his father that he loved her?  
  
It was too simple, really. She was herself, and so help him, he did love her.  
  
Draco turned to face the full length mirror beside his bed. His normally pale skin was flushed, his lips still slightly swollen from the kisses she had bestowed upon him barely an hour ago. His hair, kept to his chin and normally fastidiously tidy, was in disarray; the cornsilk locks haloing his head, making him look far more angelic than he knew he was. He reached for the nearest solid object-a book, one Ginny had given him for his birthday- and threw it at his reflection. It bounced off, causing the mirror to shake in its ebony frame but nothing more. He dimly noticed a low growling sound, and might have been shocked to realise it was coming from his own throat, but he was too far gone to feel anything but the rage burning inside him, consuming all but the most basic instincts. He glared at himself in the mirror, hating what he saw, hating himself because he couldn't give the girl he loved what she wanted, what she needed. He was selfish, he was afraid.  
  
Draco moved suddenly, rushing towards the mirror and pounding futilely against the glass; tears stung his eyes as his left hand groped blindly for something, anything. Thin fingers closed around something hard, heavy, and he swung at his reflection. The glass cracked, then shattered around him, but he didn't hear it; all noise was drowned out by his scream, a low, feral sound that rose into a keening wail as he fell to his knees, driving shards of glass into his flesh, revelling in the physical pain because it made him forget, if only for a moment, the emotional one.  
  
In a dungeon room not far away, Severus Snape was teaching a first year class the proper method of distillation. And Snape, renowned for being one of the most demanding teachers in school, was interrupted by an inhuman noise, after which he dismissed class; he simply could not concentrate with that sound reverberating in his ears.  
  
________________________________________________  
  
Sometimes I push too hard  
Sometimes you fall and skin your knee  
I never meant to do  
All that I've done to you  
Please baby say it's not too late  
  
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End file.
